


Profane

by DizzyRedhead, GreyMichaela



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, D/s overtones, Gangbang, Gentle Domming, M/M, Multi, needy Andre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 04:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: Andre's still trying to figure out how he fits in with his new teammates
Relationships: (past), Andre Burakovsky/multiple, André Burakovsky/Tom Wilson, J. T. Compher/Tyson Jost, Tyson Barrie/Gabriel Landeskog
Comments: 62
Kudos: 273





	Profane

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% sysrae's fault when the three of us were talking about how Burky's already flirting with his new team. We took the idea and ran with it. 
> 
> Title is from [Profane](https://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com/post/154586949265/the-first-time-he-calls-you-holy-you-laugh-it%22), a poem that didn't really inspire it but fit the feel of what we were going for perfectly. Go read it and feel things. 
> 
> Real people, VERY much a work of fiction. This started as "Andre flirts with everyone" and somehow morphed into both of us exploring the tragedy of NHL trades in various ways.

Andre wraps the towel around his waist, reluctantly leaving the showers and heading back toward the locker room. It’s times like this, with the energy from the game still buzzing through him, that he misses Washington the most. Misses having Tom to jump on and roughhouse with, Ovi’s bear hugs, Nicke and Braden’s calm soothing presence. The Avs are great guys, and he’s having fun here, but he’s been holding back, not quite trusting that they can handle him in his full needy, hyperactive messiness.

Although from some of the things Josty has said about the other Tyson, they might be better able to handle it than he thinks.

The locker room has mostly cleared out by the time he comes back in, just a few of the guys left. He crosses to his stall, doing his best not to get caught looking as Mikko rubs a towel over his hair, completely naked with water drops still catching the light here and there on his skin.

He likes Mikko. Mikko made him feel welcome from the first moment they met, showing him around the city and taking him out to eat. He doesn’t treat Andre like a child or even an annoying little brother, he always listens to what Andre has to say, and he even laughs at Andre’s admittedly terrible jokes.

Andre rubs his arms, trying to quell the itch swelling beneath his skin. If this was Washington, he could turn to Tom, who’d know what to do. Tom would lay him down, give him something to focus on. Tom always knew exactly what Andre needed. When it was really bad, he’d bring the others in too, help wear Andre out, work him over until he was dazed and limp, sated in every muscle.

But he can’t ask anyone in his current locker room for that. He doesn’t know them well enough, and he’s trying to be good, trying to keep them from seeing exactly what a mess he is.

He picks up his phone, rubbing a thumb restlessly across the screen. As he deliberates, it buzzes with a text from Tom.

_ U good? _

Andre is briefly overwhelmed at just how well Tom knows him. He chews his lip and taps out a reply. _ Miss u. _

_ No one there to help? _ Tom asks.

_ Idk who I’d ask, _ Andre admits.

The phone rings in his hand, lighting up with Tom’s profile picture, and Andre answers quickly as Mikko casts him a curious glance.

“Hey, buddy.” Tom’s voice is warm and gentle, and Andre’s eyes sting briefly. He blinks rapidly before Gabe sees him and goes into dad-mode.

“Hey.” He’s proud of the way he keeps his voice steady.

“Do you trust me?” Tom asks.

“Yes,” Andre says instantly. “Always, Willy.”

“Let me talk to Gabe.”

Andre freezes. “Tom—”

“Do it, Burk,” Tom orders, steel in his voice, and somehow Andre finds his feet moving.

He threads his way across the locker room and holds the phone out to Gabe, who’s just come back from the shower himself. Gabe’s golden brows go up and he accepts the phone warily, looking a question at Andre, who just shrugs.

“Hello?” Gabe says into the phone. Andre can’t hear Tom’s side of the conversation, but from the way Gabe’s eyebrows keep notching higher, and how he’s casting sharp, assessing looks at Andre as he listens, Andre kind of wants to climb in a hole and hide.

Instead he waits, shifting from one foot to the other, as Gabe hums occasionally. After an eternity, he hands the phone back and claps his hands sharply, summoning everyone’s attention.

“I need Mikko, Nate, JT, Josty, and Nikita,” he says. “Everyone else, out. Not you, Burky. Stay where you are.”

Andre stops dead. The phone line is still live, he realizes distantly, and he presses the phone to his ear as the players Gabe named crowd around him and Gabe begins to talk to them in a low voice.

“Tom,” Andre whispers. “What did you do?”

“Trust me,” Tom repeats.

Several of the guys are casting assessing looks in Andre’s direction as Gabe speaks. Mikko licks his lips, those sinfully red lips that have kept Andre up more nights than he’d like to admit, and glances at Gabe as if for permission. 

Gabe nods and Mikko crosses to Andre, still rooted to the floor. 

“Hey,” he says, voice low enough to make Andre shiver. “I’m gonna kiss you, okay?”

He’s so close, close enough that Andre can feel the heat radiating off of his bare chest, bridging the tiny space between their bodies. Part of Andre is telling him to say no, to shut it down, to protect himself. But that part is small, drowned out by how much he wants. Needs. By Tom’s voice in his memory, by the hunger for touch, for the wrung-out relaxation he hasn’t felt in months.

“Yes.” He swallows hard, forcing his voice not to crack. “Please.”

Mikko’s only a couple of inches taller, but it’s enough, between that and the extra twenty pounds or so of muscle he has on Andre. Enough to make Andre feel surrounded, taken over in the best way. 

If he’d thought about it before now, he would have expected Mikko to be at least a little tentative. But he must be able to tell what Andre needs right now, because one of those big hands curls around the back of Andre’s neck, the other landing on his waist to pull him in. He’s plastered against Mikko for a split second before their mouths meet.

And then Mikko licks inside Andre’s mouth like he owns him and Andre forgets how to breathe. That’s okay, though. He doesn’t need air. He just needs this. Big, calloused hands on his skin. A big, muscular body wrapped around his, holding him in place. 

He doesn’t realize he’s still holding the phone to his ear until it starts to slip out of his grip. Someone, he doesn’t know who, doesn’t care, takes it, and then he can cling to Mikko’s shoulders with both hands. Can beg, as best he can with his mouth completely and wonderfully occupied, for what he needs so badly.

Despite his earlier fanciful thought, he does actually still need air. But Mikko seems as reluctant to break contact as Andre, dragging his mouth along Andre’s jawline as they both gasp for breath. It’s so little, just a fraction of what he needs, but it’s so good Andre could almost cry.

“Burky.” He forces his eyes open—when did he close them? —at the sound of Gabe’s voice. “Andre. You want this?”

He’s speaking Swedish, making a little space just for the two of them. Giving Andre an out if he wants it. There’s a little twist of shame in Andre’s belly, the voice that tells him he should take it, that he shouldn’t need this. That he’s wrong, twisted, broken.

“It’s okay, Burky.” Tom’s voice is tinny with the sound of a speakerphone call, but so familiar it has tears stinging his eyelids. “Trust me. They’ll take care of you. Show them how good you are, huh?”

There’s nothing but love and pride in Tom’s voice. It’s enough to wipe away the sour taste in the back of his throat, for him to meet Gabe’s eyes and say the words in English, so everybody knows. “I want—I want this.” 

Gabe nods. No matter how much Andre searches his gaze, he can’t find any judgement or condemnation there. “We’ve got you. Nikita?”

Andre’s eyes flutter closed again as Mikko’s fingertips slide under his loosening towel, tugging until it falls to the floor. He doesn’t even have time to feel cold before another body is pressed against his back, more skin against his skin, more hands on him.

Nikita presses a kiss to Andre’s cheek, curving his body around him so Andre is cocooned, held suspended between him and Mikko, who’s pressing slow, dragging kisses down Andre’s throat now.

Andre’s head falls back against Nikita’s shoulder with a gasp as Mikko sets teeth to skin and scrapes lightly.

“Good,” Nikita croons. He’s got his arms around Andre’s waist, holding him up as Mikko works his way down Andre’s chest. 

Andre jerks when Mikko’s mouth closes on his nipple, and Nikita’s arms tighten.

“Got you,” he murmurs.

Andre flails briefly as Mikko sucks. His hand is caught by someone and guided to Mikko’s head to tangle in his sandy curls. Mikko hums approvingly and bites down lightly, making Andre cry out.

Nikita hisses softly. He rocks his hips forward, grinding what feels like a very impressive erection against Andre’s ass and sliding one hand down, tracing light circles over his groin. He draws a finger along the underside of Andre’s shaft, featherlight and barely there, and Andre makes a broken noise, rolling his face to press it into Nikita’s throat.

A hand slips into his hair, pulling him up, and Andre opens his eyes to see Gabe just inches away.

“What do you want, sweet boy?” Gabe asks. It takes Andre a minute to realize he’s speaking Swedish again, and a minute more to find the words to answer.

“A-anything,” he manages. Mikko’s still exploring his chest with lips and hands, and Nikita’s clasping him loosely in one big fist but he’s not stroking, just holding him. Andre tries to roll his hips into Nikita’s hand but Nikita just laughs softly and doesn’t tighten his grip.

Gabe tugs gently on Andre’s hair, pulling his attention back to him. “Focus,” he orders gently in English. “What’s off-limits? Mikko—stop for a minute so he can think.”

Mikko grumbles but lifts his head. His mouth is even redder and all Andre can think about is having it on his cock.

But no—that’s not right. This is for him, but it isn’t about _ his _ pleasure. It’s about him being able to give this to his partners, to perform, and if he does well enough, to be rewarded for it.

He can’t figure out how to say it. English doesn’t come naturally to him anyway, and now, through the haze of lust and need clogging his thoughts, it’s nearly impossible.

“Tom,” he manages. Tom can tell them. Tom knows what he needs.

Gabe’s still holding the phone in his free hand. He lifts it and Andre sees Tom on the screen—they’ve switched to FaceTime at some point, he realizes foggily.

Tom smiles at him. “He needs to know he’s being good, Gabe,” he says. His eyes are fixed on Andre, full of affection. “Give him something to do.”

“Like what?” Mikko interrupts.

“I used to do things like making him stay silent the entire time, or hold onto something and not let go, or come untouched,” Tom says, and Mikko’s eyes go sharp and calculating. Andre shivers under his scrutiny. “He wants to be good, he wants to please.”

Andre whimpers and Mikko’s mouth curves in an almost cruel smile. It would be frightening if Andre didn’t want this so much. As it is, it sends another shiver down his spine.

“You want to be good for us, Andre?” Mikko reaches out, dragging a thumbnail over the nipple he’d just been nibbling on. “Let all the guys see how good you are?”

“Please.” Andre can’t get enough air, can’t think, can’t focus. He doesn’t even know if he said it in English or Swedish. He feels high, strung out and desperate, on fire from the eyes on him, from the hands on his skin. 

Mikko’s smile sharpens as he pinches Andre’s other nipple, hard, for an endless second. Andre is completely, shamefully certain that both Mikko and Nikita noticed the way his cock jerked, precome leaking from the head.

He sags back against Nikita when Mikko lets go, sucking in air like he’d just done a double shift. Before he can regain even a little bit of equilibrium, Mikko’s hands are on his shoulders, nudging him downward until he folds to his knees.

“There you go.” Mikko wraps a loose fist around his own cock, hard and straining toward Andre’s face, threads the fingers of his other hand through Andre’s hair. “Let’s see how good you are with your mouth.”

Andre opens without being prompted, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. This alone won’t be enough, but it will help, the solid weight of Mikko’s cock on his tongue, stretching his mouth. He wants to lean forward, suck him down, choke himself on the hard, thick length, but when he starts to move, Mikko’s hand tightens in his hair, holding him back.

He whines at that, unable to stop the noise from escaping. His face flushes hot, some part of him waiting for laughter and mockery. But when he dares to look up from under his lashes, no one is laughing. 

They’re all watching him, everyone he can see. Nikita has shifted off to the side for a better view, his eyes dark and hot as he palms himself over his sweats. JT and Josty are all but plastered together in JT’s stall, Josty’s head tipped back on JT’s shoulder. JT’s hand disappears down the front of Josty’s boxers, but his eyes are still fixed on Andre and Mikko even as he nibbles on the side of Josty’s neck. Nate is biting his lower lip red as he watches, his hand opening and closing on top of his thigh. Gabe’s forehead is still furrowed a little, but his towel is doing nothing to hide his cock’s interest. 

Andre only gets that one look before Mikko presses him forward, the head of his cock slipping between Andre’s lips. He whimpers again at the salty taste, at the way Mikko’s hand clenches tight in his hair, little sparks of pain morphing into pleasure. 

Clenching his hands where they rest on his thighs, Andre stays still, letting Mikko fuck his mouth, doing what he can with lips and tongue. His eyes flutter closed again, everything else slipping away. He’s hard, of course, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is staying where Mikko puts him. Taking what Mikko gives him. Being good.

“So fucking good.” Mikko sounds as rough as if he were the one with a cock in his mouth, but the words are enough to have Andre moaning, trying to take more, to suck harder. Mikko curses in Finnish, both hands in Andre’s hair as he starts to fuck his face in earnest.

Andre starts to lose time a little, but it doesn’t worry him like it might have a few years ago. He knows this feeling now, sinks into its welcome. Tom is watching, Gabe is here. His team around him. Not the Caps, and that thought is almost enough to jerk him out of that soft, warm place, but this is still his team. They’ve got him.

It’s a surprise when Mikko’s thrusts start to lose rhythm, when he grits out a string of Finnish words and salty liquid floods Andre’s mouth. He swallows on instinct, not realizing until Mikko's fingers brush over his cheeks that they’re wet with tears.

"So good." Mikko's chest heaves as he gulps in air. "Andre… so good."

Even if he hadn't been hazy, floating in this feeling, Andre doesn't think he could describe what the words do to him. The way they seem to soak into his skin, like rain into the thirsty ground, filling up the parts of him that were aching and empty. He drifts on them, letting gentle hands urge him back to his feet, drinking in Mikko’s kiss when he’s pulled in for it.

More hands touch him and he arches into it without even thinking about it.

“Jesus,” someone murmurs. Andre can’t tell who it is and doesn’t try to figure it out. He’s turned, guided a few steps forward, and then those gentle hands ease him down, until he’s stretched across a bench on his stomach. He can’t help the roll of his hips, dragging his cock across the vinyl, and someone slaps his ass. The sharp sting helps shock his senses to awareness again, settling him back into his body.

“Don’t come yet,” Gabe orders. “Who’s next?”

“We are.” That’s JT’s voice. Andre rolls his head to see them. JT’s bending to whisper something in Josty’s ear, hand still down his shorts. Josty whines as JT pulls his hand out and stands, drawing Josty up with him. “Tyson’s gonna fuck you, Burk, is that okay?”

Andre’s mouth floods with saliva and he swallows hard, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes _ please,” _ he manages.

JT pulls Josty into a rough kiss, then shoves him back a step. “Get him ready.” He swings a leg over the bench in front of Andre and settles a few inches away, his cock already hard. Andre licks his lips. Will he be allowed to suck him off? He doesn’t know, and he’s even less sure if he’s allowed to ask.

A bottle cap clicks somewhere behind him and Josty settles a warm hand on Andre’s thigh, rubbing and squeezing the muscle. JT threads his fingers through Andre’s curls at the same time, pushing them off his forehead. 

Andre looks up and JT smiles at him. 

“What—” Andre stops to work moisture into his mouth. “What you want of me?” 

“Just relax and let us take care of you,” Gabe says before JT can answer. “But don’t come, okay? Can you do that?”

Andre swallows hard and nods jerkily. There’s a finger at his entrance, slick with lube and probing gently, but Andre’s distracted because JT’s tightened his grip, guiding Andre’s head down to his cock. Andre opens gratefully, propping himself on his elbows to get a better angle.

JT stops him just before he makes contact though. “Wait—do you want condoms, Dre?”

Andre shakes his head immediately. “I don’t—I want—” He swears at the fog in his brain making it hard to find the words in English, and Tom saves him.

“He likes to be made a mess,” he says, and someone swears, low and hushed. “Mark him up, really get him filthy. He loves that.”

JT groans and removes his hand, and Andre drops his head, taking him down in one smooth motion. It helps the buzzing in his bones, the familiar sensation of a cock in his mouth. Pre-come bursts bright and bitter on his tongue and JT makes a choked noise as Andre opens his throat and sinks lower. He’s so focused on what he’s doing that he almost forgets about Josty behind him, and he jolts when a finger slides inside his ass.

JT caresses his jaw, saying something Andre can’t hear over the roaring in his ears. He does his best to concentrate, but Josty’s added a finger and is pumping in and out smooth and slow. Andre pulls off and presses his face to JT’s thigh, panting. JT curves over him, running a gentle hand over his shoulders.

“Is it too much?”

Andre shakes his head wordlessly. Josty hasn’t even paused, still pressing deep inside over and over, and there are sparks gathering under Andre’s skin.

He can’t come yet. He’s been told not to, and he can obey, he can be good. He lifts his head and goes back to work even as Josty adds a third finger, clenching his hands together desperately to keep from rocking down onto him and chasing his own pleasure.

It helps to focus on JT’s cock. It’s long and slim with a slight curve, and Andre loses himself in exploring it with his tongue, flicking across the head and then sinking deep until it’s nudging the back of his throat and JT is swearing in a low, unsteady stream.

Josty pauses briefly and Andre drags in air.

“Can I?” Josty asks.

It takes a moment for JT to answer, and Andre allows himself to be proud. _ He _ did that, wrecked JT’s stolid composure and made him forget how to speak.

“Yeah,” he finally rasps. “Remember what I told you.”

Josty says nothing and Andre spares a quick look over his shoulder. Josty looks almost _ sullen, _ he realizes, but he’s reaching for the lube, slicking himself up and getting in place. There’s pressure on Andre’s hole and he takes a deep breath and pushes back against it. Josty slips inside and doesn’t pause, sinking deep in one smooth motion.

Andre drops his forehead to JT’s thigh again as his body struggles to accept the intrusion. The discomfort fades almost immediately into a low, dull warmth deep in his belly, curling outward in lazy tendrils as Josty leans forward, fists on the bench on either side of Andre’s prone form. He hears kissing, and rolls his head enough to see JT leaning forward too, a hand cupping Josty’s face as they make out leisurely.

It’s a good view, but there’s a cock in Andre’s ass and he has a powerful need to be fucked. He shifts his weight, deliberately squeezing his internal muscles, and Josty breaks the kiss with a choked noise.

“Looks like you’re not the only brat in the room,” JT says, sounding amused, and Josty mutters something under his breath. But he’s straightening and pulling back and thank all the gods, thrusting back in. He establishes a steady rhythm, driving deep and making Andre’s toes curl with every pass.

JT’s hands are in Andre’s hair again, lifting his head up, and Andre moans, barely able to focus as JT guides him back down to his own cock.

_ Don’t come, don’t come. _ It’s getting harder and harder to obey as Josty pounds home over and over. He shifts his angle and nudges the bundle of nerves at Andre’s core and sparks go off behind Andre’s eyes. He chokes on another moan, flailing for something to hold onto, anything to keep him grounded. Someone catches his hand and Andre hangs on for dear life as Josty’s thrusts shove him up the bench.

“You’re doing so good,” a warm voice says in his ear. “You should see yourself, beautiful boy, you look so amazing like this. Taking it like a champ, aren’t you?”

Andre pries one eye open to see Gabe crouching beside him, eyes soft with pride and affection, and it makes his bones turn to liquid. Gabe’s proud of him. His team is there, surrounding him, accepting him, making him _ theirs. _ Andre squeezes Gabe’s hand and allows himself to drift again, soaking up the praise and gentle caresses.

He doesn’t know how long he hangs suspended like that, warm and cherished, before Josty loses his rhythm, hips stuttering.

“JT—”

“No,” JT says sharply.

Josty makes a noise like a sob and wrenches away, pulling out and stumbling backward as Andre moans at the sudden emptiness. He cranes around to see Josty bent over, clasping himself and clearly fighting off his orgasm.

_ “Please,” _ Josty says desperately. “I’ll be good, JT, I will, I’ll—”

“I said no.” JT’s voice is hard and uncompromising. “Gabe, help me roll him over.”

It takes Andre a second to realize he’s talking about him, when hands settle on him and help him up and around, then ease him back down until he’s looking up at JT. 

JT stands and comes around the bench so he’s facing Andre. Then he swings a leg over him and the bench, straddling his chest. Andre opens his mouth eagerly but JT shakes his head, an affectionate smile curving his mouth.

“Just lie there and look pretty,” he says, and takes hold of himself. 

He strips his cock hard and fast, head falling back as he takes his pleasure, a flush crawling up his chest. Josty drifts closer, eyes avid, and JT reaches out with his free hand, drawing him in. Josty’s cock is red, leaking in slow, steady drops, and he’s so hard it looks painful.

JT drags him down into a rough kiss, licking and biting at his mouth, and comes with a shudder, warm splatters hitting Andre’s chest. Andre watches, spellbound, as JT works himself through it and finally straightens with a groan.

_ “Fuck,” _ he says. “That was nice.” He bends and kisses Andre briefly, then gets off him, cracking his back with a satisfied noise. “Say thank you to Burky, Tyson.”

Josty goes to his knees beside Andre’s limp form. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Andre squints at him hazily. “You didn’t come.”

Josty shrugs. “JT said I couldn’t.” He glances at JT, who’s watching them, and back at Andre. A smile tugs at his mouth. “He’ll make it worth it. He always does.”

“Clean him up, Ty,” JT orders.

Andre nearly makes a noise of protest. He doesn’t _ want _ to be cleaned up, he wants to be marked up, made filthy, _ owned— _but Tyson isn’t reaching for a cloth. The first touch of his hot tongue to Andre’s chest makes him jerk as it drags, wet and soft across his skin. Tyson smiles up at him briefly and then bends to his task. 

JT watches, eyes sharp and possessive, as Tyson cleans Andre thoroughly and then leans down to kiss him. Andre tastes himself on Tyson’s tongue and he sighs.

“You’re so good,” Tyson whispers, pressing soft kisses along Andre’s jaw. “You were so good for me. Thank you.”

The words soak into Andre’s soul. The need to come is a bright, burning sun in the back of his mind, but he’s able to push it away, let the praise fill and buoy him. His whole body feels lit up, like sparks might come out of his fingers and toes. He wouldn’t be surprised to open his eyes and find himself glowing, vibrating so hard with arousal and the need to come that everyone can see it radiating out of him. 

Before he can collect his thoughts, Nate is there, pulling him in for a deep, possessive kiss, big arms wrapping around him and holding him close. Andre knows, when his brain is working rationally, that Nate is shorter than him, but right now he feels small, safe and surrounded by Nate’s solid muscle. 

“Doing so good.” Nate pulls back, his hands framing Andre’s face. “Can you take a little more? Can you be good just a little longer?”

Andre nods before his brain catches up enough to parse the question, to understand what Nate is asking. His cock is so hard it aches with the need to come, but he thinks he could wait forever if it puts that look in Nate’s eyes. If it gets Nate touching him like this while the rest of his team gathers around, a protective wall between him and the world.

“Good.” Nate punctuates the word with another long, filthy kiss, nudging Andre back down until he’s stretched out on the bench again.

He’s not sure what he expects—actually, he doesn’t have enough blood left in his brain to expect anything—but it’s still a surprise when Nate’s mouth starts moving down his chest. He finds himself tensing, desperate to do as Gabe asked, to not come, even though he has no idea how long he can hold out.

But Nate bypasses his cock entirely, pulling his thighs wider with those big hands. Even though it’s the obvious destination, Andre still jolts at the first warm puff of Nate’s breath over his hole.

When Nate licks over him, warm and wet, the soft touch a delicious contrast to the scratch of his stubble, Andre’s hips try to come up off the bench. Nate holds him down effortlessly, one arm across his hips, and that’s—it’s so much. Tears trickle out of the corner of his eyes, overflowing like the feelings they’re pulling out of him, like the orgasm he can’t have, not yet. 

“Nate, wait.” Gabe’s voice is quiet, but still has that snap of command that makes Nate freeze instantly, lifting his head. “He needs something else to focus on. Like this.”

Andre can’t quite parse what’s said next, but he doesn’t have to. All he has to do is wait, trying to calm his breath and his racing heartbeat.

It’s all in vain, though, when Nate moves around, swinging one leg up onto the bench until his knees bracket Andre’s head, his hard cock only inches from Andre’s mouth. 

“Better?” Gabe squeezes Andre’s hand gently.

Andre nods frantically, straining his head up and using his free hand to draw Nate down until he can close his mouth over the head, run his tongue along where the foreskin is pulled back. Despite the distraction, he still whimpers when Nate leans down to get back to work, fucking his tongue in where Andre is already loose and open from Josty’s cock. Nate’s whole body goes taut at the vibrations on his cock, thrusting a little deeper into Andre’s mouth and mimicking the motion with his tongue.

Nate is clearly loving this. Andre can’t focus enough to string together two coherent thoughts in a row, but he can still tell, from the happy noises Nate presses into his skin, from the way his cock was hard and leaking before it got anywhere near Andre’s mouth. It’s the only thing giving Andre hope that he can make Nate come before he does.

Andre’s hand clenches on Nate’s hip and he pulls out every trick he can think of, swirling his tongue around to rub over the sensitive spot just below the head, sucking and licking. Spit runs out of the corners of his mouth, joining with the tears to make his face wet and messy, and every time he moans or groans Nate thrusts a little deeper.

His orgasm is so close he can almost taste it, or no, that’s the bitter salt of Nate’s precome on his tongue. Andre works even harder, all but choking himself on Nate’s cock until he comes, his shout muffled against the skin of Andre’s thigh.

“Fuck.” Nate shudders his way through an aftershock, one last spurt filling Andre’s mouth before his softening cock slips free. “Jesus fuck, Burk. You’re so good at that.”

Andre whimpers. His cock is so hard it hurts, sticky with precome, and he feels so fucking empty. He needs—he needs to come, but that’s not even the most important. If he wasn’t so empty, so alone, he could wait— 

He looks over at Gabe for instructions, but it takes a second for his sex-addled brain to parse what he’s seeing. Gabe’s fingers are still threaded between his, but his other hand is white-knuckled on the edge of the bench, his mouth falling slightly open. Nikita is behind him, biting his lip and looking fucking wrecked. Gabe’s body blocks most of Andre’s view, but the wet, slick sounds, the flex of Nikita’s shoulder and arms, are unmistakable.

“Are—” Andre swallows as his voice breaks. “Are you—”

Gabe lifts Andre’s hand to his lips, brushing his lips over the knuckles. “So good for us, sweet boy. One more, okay? I’m going to fuck you while Nikita fucks me. And then you get to come.”

Andre honestly isn’t sure how he doesn’t come just at the thought. He bites down on his lip, letting the sharp pain ground him, just a little. “Please.”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? All he has to do is be good for them. They’ll give him what he needs.

“Doing so good.” Tom’s voice startles him, suddenly close. And breathless in a familiar way. 

When Andre rolls his head to the side to see the phone propped up against the side of the stall, he realizes that the filthy noises weren’t just from Nikita prepping Gabe. Tom’s cock isn’t in the frame, but he’s flushed all the way down his chest. Andre has seen that face too many times to confuse it with anything else, even if he couldn’t see Tom’s bicep bunching as he jerks off. 

“So good, bud. Miss you so much.”

It doesn’t ache as much, not with all the sensations flooding Andre’s body, but he still feels it. “You too.”

Thankfully, Gabe recaptures Andre’s attention before he can think about it too hard, pulling him down off the bench. At some point when Andre was distracted, a thick padded mat appeared on the floor, the perfect length for Andre to lie on. Not that he wouldn’t have let Gabe fuck him on the floor, but this is nice, too.

He goes willingly, lets Gabe arrange him on the mat, propping his hips up with a folded towel underneath. The rest of the guys have gathered around again, he realizes suddenly. Nate and Mikko settle to the floor on either side, hands rubbing soothingly up and down his arms. JT and Josty are by his head. Josty leans over from his seat on JT’s lap, fingers threading through his hair.

“Ready?” Gabe’s hands land on his thighs, big and warm like the feelings spreading through Andre’s chest and to the rest of his body. He waits for Andre’s nod, of course he does, but it feels like they happen at the same moment, Andre’s eager assent and the first push of Gabe’s cock inside him.

After Josty and Nate, he’s surprised there’s any resistance left in his body. Gabe thrusts with glacial, almost aching slowness, pushing inside centimeter by centimeter, one slick, endless slide. By the time he’s buried deep inside, Andre feels like he’s going to shake out of his skin.

Gabe doesn’t stop there, leaning down until his body is a solid blanket over Andre, capturing his mouth in a leisurely, possessive kiss. Andre melts into it, letting Gabe explore every corner of his mouth. He’s surrounded by his team, loved by his team, and something clicks like the snap of a dislocated limb popping back into place. 

“Our sweet boy.” Gabe is murmuring in Swedish now, nonsense endearments pressed into his skin that would have Andre blushing red if all the blood in his body wasn’t in his cock right now. “So fucking good for us. Play with us, win with us, fuck us. Ours.”

“Yes.” Andre doesn’t know what language he whimpers the word in, and he doesn’t care. “Yes, please.”

Gabe sucks a mark at the base of his neck, stinging and wonderful. “Shhh, sweet boy. We’ve got you.”

Andre had completely forgotten about the other part of what was going to happen until Gabe goes tense on top of him, sucking in a long breath before relaxing again. Blinking his eyes open, he cranes his neck to look down Gabe’s back and watch Nikita push inside, even slower than Gabe had done for him.

Pretty soon he can’t watch any longer, though, not if he wants to be good, to wait for Gabe and Nikita to come. Even when he closes his eyes, though, the image is burned into the back of his eyelids. Nikita’s cock, disappearing oh-so-slowly into Gabe’s body. He can feel it, the way Gabe’s cock nudges just a little bit into him with each movement.

Andre honestly isn’t sure he can last. He needs to, needs to do this for his team. But every inch of his body is sensitized, lighting up at the slightest touch. His cock is trapped between his belly and Gabe’s abs, rubbing against it with every shift. Breath sobs out of Andre’s throat and he clenches his fists, digging fingernails into his palms and fighting for control.

Someone yanks on his hair, hard enough that his eyes water from it. It hurts, it hurts, but he’s so grateful he could keep crying from the sheer relief of how it pulls him back from the edge.

“Fuck.” Nikita grits the word out, his voice rougher and thicker than normal. “Fuck fuck—”

“That’s the idea.” Gabe’s English has just the slightest shade of an accent as he lifts up a little, bracing himself with hands on Andre’s shoulders. “Fuck me, Nikita. Fuck us.” 

Nikita groans wordlessly, the sound covering Andre’s whimper, but obeys their captain, pulling back and thrusting in. It takes him and Gabe a few tries to establish a rhythm, but when they do, Andre just has to close his eyes and hold on for the ride. 

He can’t do anything else, really, pinned to the mat by Gabe’s hands on his shoulders, both of them fucking him open. For a minute he wishes that both of them were inside him, filling him up so full he can never feel alone again.

Nikita curses in Russian, picking up the pace, and Mikko laughs, his hand sliding down to wrap around Andre’s wrist. “Got a dirty mind, _ muru. _Think you’re gonna break Z.”

“Did I—” Andre’s breath rushes out of him with the next thrust. “Say that out loud?”

On his other side, Nate copies Mikko. “Oh yeah. Save something for next time, Dre.” 

_ Next time_. Andre holds on to that thought and finally, finally lets himself go. Lets himself float, held safe and sound and loved by his team. He doesn’t have to worry here. He’s not alone.

Gabe bites down on his shoulder when he comes, another mark to remind him of this. Of them. He goes limp, a warm, living blanket as Nikita’s rhythm becomes erratic and he finally goes still. 

There’s no telling how long they stay like that before Nikita stirs, leaning down over Gabe’s shoulder to kiss Andre before he pulls out slowly. Gabe waits until they’re done to follow suit, kissing Andre soft and sweet before his softening cock slips free, come trickling down Andre’s thigh.

“So good.” Gabe’s voice is rough, met with an echo of agreement from the others. “Are you ready to come, sweet boy?”

Andre nods, the urgency of his erection suddenly flooding back. “Please, please, Gabe—”

“Shh.” Gabe kisses him one more time. “We’ve got you. Comph?”

A brief stirring, and then JT’s hands replace Josty’s in his hair. Andre might lose a few seconds, because the next thing he knows, Josty is between his legs, sliding three fingers inside him and sucking him down to the root.

“Fuck, please—”

“Come whenever you’re ready.” Gabe squeezes his knee gently. “You can, Andre. Come for us.”

Andre lets go of control with a sob, coming so hard that he’s not entirely sure it doesn’t kill him, just for a moment. He blacks out with the force of it, losing his grip on reality.

He comes to in stages, awareness swimming in and out of his reach. Every muscle hurts. He feels stripped to the core in a way that’s more than physical, as if his inner workings have been laid bare for the whole world to see.

Not the world, he thinks sluggishly as hands move him, lift him. Just his team. Which amounts to his world. He feels drunk, or high. He’s being carried somewhere, he doesn’t know where and he doesn’t much care. His head lolls against someone’s shoulder and a kiss is pressed to his hair as he’s lowered to the floor.

“Andre.” That’s Gabe. Andre likes Gabe. A hand is patting his cheek and Andre turns his face, tucking it into the shoulder of whoever he’s propped against. He doesn’t like Gabe, he thinks as he moans a protest. Someone laughs, soft and affectionate. “Andre,” Gabe says again. “Come on, sweet boy, wake up for me so I can get you cleaned up.”

“We can help,” Nate says from behind him.

“No.” There’s a bite in Gabe’s voice, enough to make Andre pry one bleary eye open. Gabe takes a breath. He’s kneeling in front of Andre, but he’s looking up at Nate. “This is—I need to do this. Please.”

“It won’t bring him back.” Nate sounds regretful, like he hates what he’s saying, and Gabe’s face hardens. 

“Take care of the others,” he snaps, and it’s definitely an order. “Make sure they’re all okay to get home.”

Nate sighs and helps Andre lean against the wall. He bends and kisses him briefly before climbing to his feet, and then it’s just Gabe and Andre alone in—Andre looks around, taking in where he is for the first time.

“The coaches’ showers are slightly less gross,” Gabe says, and if his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, his hands are gentle as he pulls Andre to his feet. Andre’s legs aren’t going to hold him long, but he clings to Gabe’s shoulders and does his best to stay upright as Gabe turns on the water and begins to clean them both off. “You did so well,” he murmurs, one arm around Andre’s waist as he rinses come and lube off his skin. “You’re a miracle, beautiful boy. You don’t even know, do you? How good you are. How happy we are you’re here.”

Andre presses his damp cheek to Gabe’s shoulder and sighs. He’s so exhausted he feels like he’s floating, drunk with the praise and love that’s been lavished on him. He drifts again, barely conscious as Gabe turns off the water and gently muscles him out of the shower.

Time slips from his grasp again, and when he wakes up, he’s dressed in sweats, a towel around his shoulders, and buckled in the front seat of Gabe’s car. Gabe is parking, and Andre realizes he’s somehow slept through an entire drive. He stirs, and Gabe smiles at him in the dimly lit interior.

“Think you can make it inside or do you want me to carry you?”

“I can walk,” Andre says, but his legs refuse to cooperate and he slides out of the Range Rover and right into a heap on the pavement as Gabe swears and dashes around to his side.

“Idiot,” he says fondly, and pulls him back to his feet. “Arm around my shoulders.”

They stagger up the path to the front door, and Andre thinks wistfully of cool cotton sheets as Gabe fumbles with the keys.

“Tom,” he says suddenly, startling Gabe as the door swings open and they lurch through. “Tom, I didn’t say goodbye—”

“He’s okay,” Gabe says, tightening his grip and steering him through the house toward the bedroom. “He said to tell you he’s proud of you.”

Andre’s chest tightens at the words, his eyes stinging. “I miss him,” he says baldly, and Gabe catches his breath.

“I know, sweetheart.” They’ve reached the bed, and Gabe eases him onto it, Andre moaning with relief. Gabe sits beside him, a hand on Andre’s hip. “He misses you too.”

Andre pushes his face into the pillow, too exhausted to come up with words that will adequately convey everything he’s feeling. Gabe rubs his hipbone.

“Please,” Andre manages. 

“Yeah, of course.” Gabe crawls onto the bed behind him, curving his body around Andre’s protectively, one arm heavy and perfect across his waist. “You’re ours now,” he murmurs. “We’re going to take care of you. We’re so glad we have you.”

He doesn’t seem to expect an answer, which is good because Andre’s voice isn’t working anyway, throat choked with gratitude. He pats Gabe’s hand silently instead, and he’s almost asleep when Gabe’s phone rings. Gabe answers immediately, voice hushed.

“Tys.”

Andre thinks he’s never heard a single syllable weighted with so much grief. It makes his heart twist in his chest, and he burrows back against Gabe’s warmth in a desperate, unspoken attempt to give him comfort as Gabe’s breath hitches.

“Nate texted you?” Gabe asks quietly, and listens to Tyson’s answer. “Yeah,” he says after a minute. “I didn’t want him waking up alone.”

Andre is eavesdropping on a private moment, he knows that, but he can’t help straining to hear what Tyson is saying. It’s no use—Tyson’s voice is too soft. But Gabe almost laughs, a breath of air against Andre’s neck.

“I miss you so goddamn much,” he says thickly.

Tyson says something.

“I will. I—Tys….” Gabe takes a ragged breath. “Okay.” The phone clunks against the table as Gabe sets it down and pulls Andre closer. “Sleep,” he whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

_ Thank you _ swirls with _ I’m sorry _ with _ I wish things were different _ with _ He misses you, too _ but none of the words make it out of Andre's brain before he slips into sleep.

He'll try again in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> **DizzyRedhead**: Thank you so much for reading and I hope you had half as much fun reading as I did writing. Cowriting with GreyMichaela was an absolute delight!
> 
> If you like reading about dumb hockey boys, their feelings, and the sex they have, you might want to check out my author tumblr. And if you’re just here for the fic and would like to yell at me about actual hockey players or other fandom things, my main Tumblr is a random mixture of whatever happens to catch my eye.
> 
> **GreyMichaela**: my [blog](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com) is here because I'm not organized like Diz; I just throw everything on the same blog and scream about stuff. Come talk to us!


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